


Kal AU: Adjustments

by wheel_pen



Series: Alice [32]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness, Red Kryptonite, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU subseries of Alice series. Kal and the Kents have some trouble getting used to each other. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kal AU: Adjustments

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Alice, my original female character, is new in Smallville. There is something special about her, and she and Clark form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. This series starts after the end of the second season—after the destruction of the spaceship and Clark abruptly leaving town.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This story may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

“—absolutely _covered_ in chickens—t, and—“

“Watch your language, young man!”

“You were patching the _roof_ , how’d you get covered in chickens—“

“Clark!”

“I didn’t say it!”

“You were about to.”

“Ha ha!”

“Says the brainiac who fixes a roof from _inside_ the chicken coop—“

“It seemed like a good idea at the time! I—“

Kal froze in place as he stepped into the kitchen of the Kent farmhouse, and Clark slammed into him from behind. “Kal!” he complained, shoving at his shoulder with exasperation. “Cut it out!” Kal didn’t move. “Kal!” Clark repeated, more irritated now. Jonathan had fortunately entered the kitchen first and rolled his eyes from his spot at the sink.

“Boys, quit messing around and wash up for dinner,” he ordered sternly.

Clark pushed past the other teenager, barely avoiding damaging the wood of the doorframe. As he started to walk in front of his twin, Clark noticed the sudden tension in his shoulders. Kal’s face was twisted in an expression of fury, and his hands were clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles were white. “Kal?” Clark asked in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s only three places,” Kal ground out slowly, quietly. Frowning, Clark followed his gaze of death to the kitchen table, which Martha had set for dinner. Plates, glasses, silverware, and napkins were all in place—three of each set. Three, not four—four being the number of people currently living in the house. Understanding dawned, and as he always did, Clark hurried to smooth it over.

“Kal, I’m sure Mom was just about to set out the fourth plate,” he insisted. “She probably had to go and—get the laundry first.” It was the first excuse he thought of. And he knew it was lame.

Kal knew it too and switched his death glare to Clark. It was definitely an odd sensation, being stared down by rage-filled eyes that were so much like your own, and yet—not. Jonathan glanced over at the two of them, saw the expressions on their faces, and called questioningly, “Clark? Kal?”

Clark willed his father not to get involved in this. Kal’s temper was hair-trigger anyway; Clark really hoped he didn’t notice Clark positioning himself in between Kal and Jonathan, just in case his younger twin lost it. “Come on, Kal, let’s just get washed up, okay?”

At that moment Martha walked in, cheerfully toting not the laundry or some other item whose retrieval was remotely urgent in nature, but rather some dirty dishes from the living room. Clark tensed, preparing to move to block her instead, when Kal spun on his heel and stormed out the door he had just entered, snapping the screen door in half as he did so.

“Kal!” admonished Jonathan sharply, but as Clark watched Kal’s figure blurred with superspeed and he vanished into the barn.

“Is something wrong?” Martha asked nervously, glancing from Jonathan to Clark.

“I don’t know,” her husband sighed in confusion. “He was doing pretty well this afternoon with the chores, and...”

“There’s only three places set at the table, Mom!” Clark pointed out plaintively.

Martha gasped as she realized what she’d done. It seemed like such a simple, insignificant thing, but—Kal was still so sensitive to his place in the family, even an insignificant mistake, like forgetting to set out a fourth plate, could send him over the edge. “Go after him, Clark, please,” she asked, immediately moving towards the cabinet for another plate.

Clark sped to the barn and halfway up the stairs before slowing down. “Kal?” he called into the darkness. His heightened hearing picked up the sound of fabric rubbing angrily against fabric—and sniffing. Clark sighed and kept moving upwards. “Kal?” he repeated, stepping onto the open loft floor.

“Go away,” came a muffled voice from the couch, where his twin was awkwardly stretched out facedown.

“Kal, she just wasn’t done yet,” Clark assured him, deciding it was technically true. “She’s setting a fourth place right now.”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied defiantly, turning over to face the back of the couch.

“Come on, Kal,” Clark cajoled. “You’ve been working all afternoon. You’ve got to be hungry.” Clark remembered what he’d been smelling floating out the kitchen windows for the last hour. “It’s roast chicken, and mashed potatoes, and carrots cooked with butter and sugar, all nice and mushy...” His own mouth was watering just thinking about it.

Kal moved just enough to fling a couch pillow at Clark with murderous force; fortunately Clark caught it with only a surprised glance. “Get the f—k out,” he snarled, voice thick. “Go back to _your_ f‑‑‑‑‑g dinner with _your_ f‑‑‑‑‑g parents!”

Clark’s expression softened as he tried to come up with another strategy. He didn’t blame his mother for forgetting—she’d been pretty distracted lately, after all. It was just—spectacularly bad timing. He wandered over to the couch and dropped down to the wooden floor, leaning back against the cushions. Kal sniffed again. Clark leaned his head against his twin’s back and felt the muscles stiffen at first, then relax a fraction.

“You know she didn’t mean anything by it,” he said quietly after a moment.

“They don’t like me, and they don’t want me,” Kal whined, and Clark rolled his eyes, turning to face the couch.

“Well why _would_ they, if you’re going to be such a _brat_?” he snapped in reply, then immediately regretted his words. “Kal, I’m sorry, I—“

“J---s H. C----t, you’re such a f‑‑‑‑‑g _pansy_ ,” Kal told him meanly, rolling over to look at Clark. “That’s what they want, good sweet little Clark who does his chores, washes up for dinner, and goes to bed on time! The _good_ son who always stays on the straight and narrow path.”

Clark narrowed his eyes at the boy on the couch. “I’m not the _good_ son,” he protested. Kal’s expression indicated disbelief. “Well, I’m not! You know as well as I do I don’t always—do the good thing.” It didn’t quite come out the way Clark had intended.

Kal snorted. “Yeah, but that was when you had _me_ in there,” he pointed out, tapping Clark’s chest with a vehemence that would have damaged anyone else. “Can you even do _anything_ that requires the _slightest_ amount of b—ls _now_ , Clark sweetie? Clark honey?”

“Shut up,” Clark muttered as Kal sneered at him. “Of course I can. This isn’t _Star Trek_ , where my personality has been split off into chunks.”

“Yeah, because there’s a real distinct line between _Star Trek_ and _your_ life these days,” Kal pointed out, sitting up. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve got _all_ your aggression, and naughty thoughts”—Clark blushed, knowing _exactly_ which thoughts Kal meant—“and bad impulses. So what does that make _me_?”

“A teenager with anger management issues,” Clark replied flippantly.

Kal leaped off the couch and Clark jumped up to follow him, but he was only going to stand by the loft opening that overlooked the farmhouse. “It means I can’t be anything _but_ this,” he countered bitterly, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. Technically, Clark’s jean pockets. “I can’t _ever_ be anything that _they_ would want.”

“Now you sound like you got all my angst, too,” Clark observed dryly, and Kal glared at him. “Look,” Clark continued, wandering closer, “just because you’re impulsive, and aggressive, and bad-tempered, and...”

“Clark, was this supposed to be the pick-me-up part of your speech?” Kal cut in snidely.

“Just because you’re all those things on the _surface_ doesn’t mean you don’t have anything else in there,” Clark suggested reasonably. “Maybe it’s just something you have to learn to control, like a new ability.”

“Oh, like a new ability?” Kal sounded more hopeful.

Clark grinned encouragingly. “Yeah, just like x-ray vision or the heat vision or anything.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Clark assured him pleasantly. “You just have to work on it a little bit—“

“Bulls—t,” Kal snapped, turning away again, and Clark knew he hadn’t believed his explanation for one second.

“Kal, I’m really pretty certain you didn’t take away all my anger and aggression,” Clark told him with exasperation, “because I’m feeling a _lot_ of it right now.”

Kal rolled his eyes disparagingly. “You’re talking in a _slightly_ louder voice than normal,” he scoffed. “That’s hardly angry _or_ aggressive.”

“Well what do you want me to do, toss you across the room?” Clark demanded.

Kal seemed to be considering it. “Swear,” he said instead.

“What?” Clark asked in confusion.

“Start cursing,” Kal clarified.

Clark stared at him. “I swear a little bit, and that’s all it will take for you to believe that I can still do bad things?” he questioned. This made no sense at all.

“For the moment,” Kal agreed. “Plus, it will be really funny,” he added with an evil grin.

“Hello, mood swing,” Clark muttered.

“I. Have. Trouble. Concentrating,” Kal reminded him pointedly. “Call it super‑ADD. I should think you’d be glad I wasn’t wiping my nose all over the couch anymore.” Clark grimaced a little at the imagery. Kal crossed his arms over his chest. “So come on, Farmboy. Let’s hear some of those words that make _Mom_ reach for the bar of soap.”

“Um... F—k?” Clark tried uncertainly. Kal seemed unimpressed. “S—t? G‑‑‑‑‑‑‑t? C—ks‑‑‑‑r?”

Kal finally grinned a little bit. Clark felt faintly ridiculous. “You’re blushing,” Kal teased him. “What a baby.”

“I am not,” Clark contradicted, mock-angry. “Motherf----r, a-----e, son of a b‑‑‑h, p‑‑‑y, b-----d—“ By now Clark had increased in both speed and volume, and Kal was doubled over laughing. Clark tried hard not to give in, but he was starting to smirk, too. “C—t, p—s, d—kh—d, p---k—“

“I think you’re beginning to enjoy this!” Kal crowed, gasping for breath.

“Like h—l!” Clark told him, giving the other teen a playful shove. Kal shoved back, and the next thing they knew they were on the floor, knocking furniture out of the way and wrestling while at the same time howling with laughter, both of them pleased they didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone else, for a change.

“Clark! Kal!” The two boys froze, staring up at Jonathan who glared at them from the top step. Apparently they had been making too much noise to hear his approach. Two pairs of innocent puppy-dog eyes met his unamused gaze. “ _What_ are you doing?”

The teenagers scrambled to their feet, Clark feeling considerably more chastised than Kal. And they both knew it, too, much to Clark’s chagrin and Kal’s delight. “Um, we were just—playing, Dad,” Clark explained haltingly. Kal poked him in the arm. Clark slapped his hand away. Jonathan raised an eyebrow. Kal nudged Clark’s foot, and Clark shoved him away, leading Kal to—

“Boys!” Jonathan’s hands were on his hips, his expression that of a parent at his wit’s end. “Get downstairs and wash up for dinner, before it’s cold.”

“Kal’d eat it anyway, he likes it better cold,” Clark informed them teasingly, as he headed for the stairs.

Kal was right on his heels. “Clark said he’s not hungry, and I can have his share,” he countered, deliberately bumping his twin on the way down.

“Dude, you busted the door, you’re not even getting your _own_ dessert,” Clark told him, with great superiority.

“Oh, I can fix it after, it won’t take that long...” Jonathan listened to the sound of their voices fade as they hurried down the stairs and back towards the house, shaking his head. Two Clarks were at least _four_ times as mischievous as just one, because now he had someone else to feed off of. On the other hand... it was nice to see his son make a real friend, someone who truly knew what it was like to be that different. Jonathan never would have believed that Clark would find not one, but _two_ people like that he could turn to—but he was very glad he did.

 

*****

Jonathan looked up from the hay he was baling, glancing around for Clark. Where _was_ that boy with the baling wire he’d gone off for five minutes ago? And where was that undisciplined twin of his, who was supposed to be helping them with chores? Probably lazing around somewhere, Jonathan figured. Sighing, he put down his tools and headed for the barn, where the baling wire was stored.

As he approached the entrance of the building he saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway—Clark specifically, he found as he got closer. Clark, standing as if frozen in place. “Clark?” Jonathan called, concerned. The boy didn’t respond, and Jonathan jogged over to him as fast as he could. “Son?” he asked, putting a hand on the teenager’s shoulder. Clark looked up at him suddenly, his expression shellshocked, and Jonathan quickly glanced around the barn, looking for whatever sight had affected Clark so much. “Son, what is it, what—“

There was a creaking in the loft above them, then a breathy female moan, and Jonathan’s voice died away. A grunt, more creaking, another moan. “Ohhhhhh!” Definitely female.

“Oh, Clark!” Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up and he whirled to face his son, whose eyes were slightly glazed with horror.

“Oh, Clark!” A _different_ female voice, and Jonathan’s jaw dropped.

“You two _are_ good friends...” A reasonably familiar masculine chuckle, and Jonathan scooped his jaw back up and set it firmly.

“Is that your brother up there?” he hissed angrily. The answer was, he hoped, obvious, since it was definitely Clark standing beside him. “That little no-account—“ Leaving the relative safety of the doorway Jonathan started up the stairs. Clark, finally roused to action, grabbed his arm and threw himself ahead of his father.

“I’ll go first,” he insisted grimly. Just in case Kal was... _angry_ at being interrupted. Which seemed like a reasonable enough response.

Clark took the stairs two at a time—no parallel intended, given Kal’s current activities—and burst onto the floor of the loft with a deliberately loud thump. Gasps of alarm followed his entrance, and much scrambling under the sheets spread on the unfolded sofa bed, but Clark still got an eyeful of bare flesh arrayed in positions not seen since the time he and Pete had stumbled upon the free Cinemax weekend.

One of the _three_ people in the bed was, of course, completely unperturbed by Clark’s arrival. “Oh, good,” Kal grinned, not bothering to drag the sheet up any higher over himself. “Now there’s an even number.”

Clark started to ask what Kal was doing, but he stopped himself when he realized what a completely ridiculous question that was. One of the girls—a redhead, and oh G-d, Clark recognized her from _school_ —dared to peer around Kal’s back at the invader and asked in confusion, “Who’s _that_?”

“That, my dear,” Kal answered, still smirking at Clark, “is my little brother. Kal. But don’t let the ‘little’ part fool you.” Clark felt his cheeks really flush for the first time—his restraint had been quite impressive, he thought—as the girl giggled.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” commented the blond dully, kneeling up from the other side of the bed, where she’d thrown herself. Clark _also_ recognized her from school—G-d, they were both on the cheerleading team—and averted his eyes from her not-quite-clothed chest.

More thumping on the stairs behind Clark, and Kal’s grin got even bigger. “Hey, is that Alice?” he asked eagerly. “I think _five_ qualifies as an orgy, don’t you, girls—“ His expression (as well as other things) fell when Jonathan instead appeared, his gaze murderous. “S—t,” Kal sighed, flopping back on the bed in defeat.

 

“You know the rules of this house—“

“F—k your rules!”

“You watch your mouth, mister—“

“Or you’ll _what_?!”

“You’re under _my_ roof, you’ll do as _I_ say—“

“And f—k _you_! You’re not my father!”

“You think Jor-El would be happy you’re getting high school cheerleaders drunk and—banging them two at a time?!”

Martha and Clark winced a little in unison at Jonathan’s tone. They were clustered together in the hallway, out of sight from the kitchen but well within hearing distance. Not that anyone needed super-hearing to understand the battle raging around the corner.

“F—k both of you! You’re both always f-----g telling me what to do!”

“If you’d act like an _adult_ instead of a—“

“G-------t, I’m _not_ an adult! I’m a f-----g super-powered alien, how the f—k do I know what I’m supposed to act like?!”

“D----t, Kal, we’re trying to help you figure this out, you have to _ask_ —“

“Who should I _ask_ —the sick f—k who _burned a g-----n scar_ on my chest?!”

“You can ask _me_ , you _know_ we’ve always done our best for Clark—“

“You followed me to Metropolis and _f-----g beat the s—t_ out of me!”

There was a terrible silence for a moment and Clark felt his mother’s sharp intake of breath. Maybe, faintly, in the very back of his mind, he had thought about it that way, for a moment—thanks to Jor-El’s intervention Clark and Jonathan had been evenly matched in power that night, and he’d been hazy on red K anyway, but at the first blow, there had still been that slight shock, however undeserved, that his father had laid a hand on him in anger.

“Kal, I—“

“You dragged me back here to be your g-----n slave on this f-----g dirt farm! You think I’m going to listen to _your_ advice?!”

“You’d better listen to _somebody_ , boy—“

“I could do _anything_! I could go _anywhere_! You’ve always f-----g held me back!”

“You _need_ to be held back, you have no self-control—“

“G-------t, old man!” There was a crack like thunder, and Clark blurred around the corner to the doorway. Kal had apparently brought his fist down on the dining room table, knocking out a chunk and splitting the heavy oak boards in half, causing the furniture to collapse on itself. “If I had no self-control you’d be in f-----g _pieces_ by now!”

_Clark_ was scared. And _he_ was invulnerable. But Jonathan stood behind the ruined table, arms crossed over his chest, expression resolute. “The only time I better see you out of this house for the next _month_ is when you’re doing chores,” he told the furious teenager.

Kal was breathing hard, almost shaking with rage. “You’re _grounding_ me?!”

“You’d better believe it,” Jonathan confirmed.

“I could tear this f-----g house down around your ears—“

“Go. To. Your. Room.”

The teenager and the older man stared each other down, Clark poised to throw himself in between them if Kal should try to rush Jonathan or use his heat vision on him. After a long, long moment, during which Clark gave up even the pretense of breathing, Kal spun away and blurred past his twin up the stairs. When Clark x-rayed the second story of the house, he saw Kal in the guest room allotted to him, curled up on the bed. He hadn’t even slammed the door hard enough to damage it.

Switching his vision back to normal, Clark looked at his father with more awe than he had since he’d felt since he’d been about ten years old. “Holy c—p, Dad!” he breathed. “You just, um—you really—“

The color suddenly drained from Jonathan’s face and Clark was at his side in an instant, setting him down in a chair before the broken table. Martha hurried over to them, sparing a glance at her furniture only to step over it. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Jonathan assured them, looking faintly exasperated by their concern.

Seeing his father’s skin return to a more normal shade, Clark grinned shakily. “Geez, Dad, weren’t you _scared_? I mean, man, you just grounded _Kal_ —“

Jonathan squeezed his arm. “He just, um—he just needs some guidance, is all, Clark—could you get me some water, honey—“

Martha rushed to the sink and broke the first glass she reached for, her hands were shaking so badly. “Dad, are you okay?” Clark asked him seriously, using his x-ray vision to make sure his heart hadn’t gone off beat again.

“I’m fine, son, I’m fine,” Jonathan sighed, accepting the water Martha brought him.

Clark glanced from one parent to the other, unconvinced. And for once his mother didn’t offer him any reassurances. “Maybe I should go... check on him,” Clark suggested hesitantly.

“That would probably be a good idea, honey,” Martha agreed, rubbing her husband’s shoulder. He reached up and took her hand, and Clark watched them for a moment before heading for the stairs. He was almost at the top when he focused his hearing and heard his mother whisper furiously, “Jonathan, what were you thinking, that table could have been your _back_ —“ Jonathan hushed her, and Clark tuned them out quickly.

 

Martha knew Clark was up to something. He’d been acting excited yet secretive ever since he got home from school and insisted that she accompany him and Jonathan to the feed store—“You need to get out of the house more, Mom”—and now that they were driving back to the farm he couldn’t wipe his grin off his face. Jonathan had noticed, too, and tried questioning him about it, but Clark was being cagey. At least he seemed _pleased_ about his little secret, so Martha took comfort in that and tried not to worry.

Jonathan pulled the truck up behind the house and let Martha out, then started to put the truck in reverse. “Wait!” Clark told him urgently, and they both froze. Seeing their reactions, the teenager looked a little sheepish. “Um... Dad, why don’t we get a drink in the house, before we unload this stuff?”

Jonathan gazed at him suspiciously. “I’m not thirsty, son,” he replied shortly. “Now close the door and let’s get on with this while your mother makes dinner.” Martha shook her head and climbed the steps to the porch.

“Wait a second, Mom!” Clark called to her, then turned back to his father. “Let’s get Kal to help!” he suggested innocently.

“Okay,” Jonathan agreed slowly. “You go find Kal, and you two meet me at the feed lot.”

“Dinner should be ready in half an hour, boys,” Martha told them, reaching for the back door.

“Um, Mom!” She stopped in her tracks and turned around, her expression both concerned and irritated. “Um... Kal’s probably in the house.” He still stood halfway out of the truck, so Jonathan couldn’t go anywhere. “We should... both go get him...”

“And why should we both do that, Clark?”

If Jonathan weren’t so stubborn, he would have just agreed to whatever game Clark was playing, Martha thought. He could have been halfway to the feed lot by now, instead of arguing in the backyard. “Jonathan, will you just come into the house now, so Clark can do whatever he wants to do and I can make dinner?” she asked in some exasperation. Jonathan looked at her in surprise and she almost rolled her eyes. Clark, on the other hand, was staring sheepishly at his feet. “Sorry, honey,” she told him apologetically. “But I didn’t want to stand out here all night.”

He nodded understandingly as Jonathan climbed out of the truck, still eyeing both of them as though he expected them to be in on a horrible plot, like something involving surprise birthday parties and balloon animals. Slowly Clark trudged up to the porch behind him, until the three of them were gathered before the back door. Martha and Jonathan looked expectantly at Clark.

“Can we go in now?” his mother asked politely.

“Um, sure. If you want, I mean...”

“Yes, I think I _would_ like to go in to my _own_ house—“ Jonathan began, pushing the door open. He cut himself off just inside the doorway when he saw Kal whirl around to face them nervously. “Kal, what are you—“

“Look, Jonathan!” Martha had pushed by her husband and was staring at the dining area, which had held an old card table from the barn for the past two weeks. Kal moved aside, into the kitchen, giving them both a full view of the new table that filled the space instead. It was a little smaller than their old one, Martha noticed as she ran her hands over the smooth, varnished surface, but it had been stained a dark cherry to match the existing chairs. Instead of four legs it had one solid post in the center, resting on four upturned feet, all carved with an intricate geometric pattern.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She turned back to the men. “Where did it come from?”

Jonathan was admiring the furniture as well, and he looked as mystified as Martha did. “I have no idea, honey,” he admitted. But he had a pretty good guess, glancing at the two boys. “Do you know anything about this?”

Kal seemed uncharacteristically hesitant, staring at his boots and worrying the edges of his jean pockets. Clark, on the other hand, was beaming. “Kal _made_ it!” he finally exclaimed, unable to keep the secret any longer.

Martha’s eyes widened. “You _made_ this?”

“Clark helped,” he mumbled.

“Hardly at all,” Clark insisted. “Just holding some stuff, that’s all.”

Jonathan crouched down to admire the underlying construction and whistled. “Wow, this is sure something, Kal. I don’t see a single nail...”

“There aren’t any,” Kal replied, sounding a little more confident. “It’s all wooden pegs and sh—stuff.”

“We found the wood in the barn,” Clark told them eagerly. “It was the headboard for some old bed, but the legs were broken off.”

“Must have been your grandfather’s,” Jonathan mused. “Always meant to get rid of that...”

Martha dropped down beside her husband. “Where did you get this post, with the carving?” she asked Kal, fingering the interweaving design.

“Um, it was just some old scraps from the barn and attic,” Kal informed them. “The carving was—laser cut.” It took Martha a moment to realize he meant he’d done it himself, with his heat vision. “There’s, um...” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Go on, tell them,” Clark whispered to him loudly. When the other boy hesitated, Clark joined his parents on the floor and ducked under the table. “Look here, right around the top of the post,” he instructed them, and Jonathan and Martha craned their necks and squinted to see the underside of the table.

“Are those, um...” Jonathan traced one of the symbols carved in a ring around the top of the post. “Is that... Kryptonian?”

Kal nodded, then realized they couldn’t see it and added, “Yeah, um... I figured if I put it _there_ , no one would see it unless they were crawling under the table anyway, which would be pretty weird of them...”

“What does it say?” Martha asked.

“Um, well... I kind of adapted one of the sayings from the caves...”

Jonathan and Martha glanced at each other worriedly, then at Clark, who grinned. “It says, ‘The food is coming.’”

“I thought it would be appropriate for a kitchen table...” Kal added.

Martha and Jonathan shared a smile, then pushed themselves off the floor. “Kal, it’s beautiful!” she told the teenager, embracing him. He hugged back, carefully, his expression cautiously pleased. “Thank you!”

“That’s a top-notch job there, son,” Jonathan assured him, putting an arm around his shoulder. Kal’s smile broadened further, mirroring Clark’s as he scrambled back to his feet. Clark could feel the tension that seemed to follow Kal around ease somewhat, finally, and he reveled in it. Sure, in a couple days, or a couple hours, Kal would get into trouble again, but for the moment at least, Clark felt like they were really a family of four.

 

******

“I went down to the caves today.”

Clark glanced up from his trigonometry homework to where Kal was sprawled on the sofa in the loft. “How’d that go?” he asked after a moment, trying to sound casual.

Kal idly flicked another page of the comic book he was perusing. “It was okay.”

The reply was less in-depth than Clark had hoped. “Did Jor-El know... who you were?”

Kal shrugged. “He seemed kind of confused,” he finally admitted. “I didn’t really... spell things out for him.”

“You didn’t say, hey, I’m a clone of your son, born from a vat of Kryptonite acid?” Clark joked, trying to make his tone light.

Kal didn’t smile, however. “No, it seemed kind of complicated...” He paused, turning another page. “He called me ‘Kal-El’ and all, so, you know, I guess I’m close enough...”

Clark turned sideways in his chair, abandoning his homework for the moment. “You should explain it to him,” he suggested earnestly. “Maybe he would have some insight.”

“On how to mash me back into you?” Kal snorted. “No thanks. I like being out.” He scooped up a handful of peanuts from the dish on the floor and dropped them into his mouth, spilling some on the couch.

Clark reached over and grabbed a couple stray nuts off the cushion to nibble on. “Did the key call you? I didn’t hear anything...”

Kal shook his head. “No, I just went down on my own.”

“So what did he say to you?” Clark prodded, curious. “More pronouncements about ruling the world?” He wondered if he should be worried about Jor-El lashing out in anger over anything Kal had said to him.

“No, we just kind of... chatted,” Kal told him, as if he didn’t quite understand it himself. “He seemed really... pleased that I had come down on my own. That you had come down on your own. Whatever.”

“Huh.” Clark waited, but Kal didn’t seem in the mood to share anything further. It was useless to pry more, he knew, and he didn’t want Kal’s temper to flare over it, but Clark couldn’t imagine what he and Jor-El would have had to “chat” about it. And if it was anything about how the caves came into being, or their powers, or Krypton, or Jor-El’s plans, or, well, _anything_ , Clark really wanted to know about it. He sighed and turned back to the table, trying to focus on the problem in the book. Probably right around the time he started to figure out the answer, Kal would decide to tell him the whole story.


End file.
